


Green Man

by inalasahl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Community: samdean_otp, M/M, Sam/Dean Mini-Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inalasahl/pseuds/inalasahl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Godstiel puts Sam and Dean back into the Sandover verse. It takes them some time to recover their memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Man

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks go to solara1357 for the beta. Thanks also to my artist, kelleigh, who graciously gave me notes on my draft. Actually, kelleigh deserves unabashed adoration for how wonderful she's been to work with for this challenge and how beautiful her art turned out. I'm probably going to end up putting more of it in the story tomorrow. [You can see it all here.](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html?format=light) Don't forget to check it out and give her lots of comments!

  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

Dean put everything he had into getting through to Castiel, but it didn't matter. "You're just saying that, because I won. Because you're afraid. You're not my family, Dean. I have no family." The blade went in with a sickening squelch that faded into silence. "I'm glad you made it, Sam. But the angel blade won't work, because I'm not an angel anymore. I'm your new god. A better one. So, you will bow down and profess your love unto me your Lord, or I shall destroy you."

"We're not going to do that, Cas," Dean said. "If you weren't hopped up on soul juice, you wouldn't want us to. Come on, Cas, _think._ Think back. Try to remember why you started all of this. It was to protect people, not to gain worshippers!" He crossed to Castiel, trying to take the angel's attention off of Bobby and Sam. "Okay, maybe we're not family, but we're still friends, right?"

Castiel cocked his head. "You need time to adjust, and I have others to see to." He lifted his hand and put his fingers together.

"Cas, wait—"

 _Snap._  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
"So, I'd like to congratulate my team for making two thousand nine —" There was a shift through the room before Dean caught himself. He recovered quickly and laughed. "Twelve, I mean. Relax, you guys are a great team now. No hidden messages. I'd like to congratulate my team for making two thousand twelve its best sales year of the last five years." Dean's contribution had been a big part of that, but he didn't need to say so. Everyone knew it.

Everyone laughed with him and began to exit. "Great speech," his boss said. "We're certainly going to miss you around here."

"Thank you, sir. I couldn't have done it without your support." Dean could afford to be gracious. He'd been promoted over the guy, earlier than anyone expected and that was a hard pill for a lifer to swallow from someone who'd only been with the company three years.

"I'm glad to have been an inspiration. You've certainly got a fire under you, but then I guess the company was in quite the bind when Adler disappeared. No one's been able to replace him. Let's hope you last longer than the others."

Dean ignored the implication and smiled. "You got that right. My first month here Adler told me it would take eight to ten years to make senior vice president."

"Lucky for you then," his boss said. "Some people would say it was quite a coincidence, you being the last to see him, and then getting his old job."

Dean froze, fixing the man with a hard look. He might be newly promoted, but Jim Rossi wasn't his boss anymore. Dean was his superior now, and Jim needed to remember it. "Being in the right place at the right time, doesn't do you much good if you don't put the work in," Dean said. It wasn't as if Dean had automatically gotten the job either. There had been a string of replacements that hadn't lasted between now and then.

"Of course." Jim held up his hands and backed off with a smile to indicate he was teasing. Though Dean knew he hadn't been, really. It was something to keep in mind. Jim wasn't the only one whom Dean would have to keep an eye on. Every promotion was a new target on one's back, but anyone who thought Dean would be in over his head would soon learn just how wrong they were.

Still. It was a coincidence, made worse in Dean's mind by the fact that he couldn't quite remember how that last conversation with Adler had gone. Oh, he had a memory of their conversation wrapping up and Adler walking out. But no one else had seen him walking down the hallway that several offices opened onto, and there was something odd about that part of his memory. It was somehow less vivid than the first part of their conversation, which Dean remembered more clearly than what he'd had for breakfast the day before. Dean shook his head to clear it. He'd been up too late watching the markets in Europe, and his brain was shot. "Don't forget to send a few people to that state commissioner's meeting we talked about. The state just got a federal infrastructure grant, and we want them thinking about how very old some of the bridges are getting. Could mean a big supply order down the road." He didn't have time to settle in to his new position. Maybe he hadn't been around the company as long as some people, but he'd prove that he deserved this promotion.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
Sam Wesson never intended to come back to Sandover. But it was considered a bad sign to smash up your cubicle directly after two of your co-workers had committed suicide, and he'd agreed to let the company place him on temporary medical leave just to get out of the building without a hassle.

He'd thought he could use the medical insurance for the little while it lasted. Somehow the little while had lasted three years. Miraculously, Sandover hadn't threatened to cut him off until recently, just when he was beginning to realize hunting ghosts on his own wasn't working out. He'd made some mistakes, lost a person or two here and there, and the open road just wasn't as inviting as he had hoped. It was lonely on his own without someone else to talk to who knew what he was really doing. Then his money had run out, and he couldn't bring himself to steal even though he tried to tell himself that it was just the paycheck he was owed for doing a necessary job, and after the accident, he simply couldn't trust himself anymore. It was time to give corporate life one more shot.

The head of the HR department in his new office beamed up him. "I want to reassure you that nobody here thinks any less of you after your little problem," she said. "Think of this as a fresh start. You're just like every other customer support tech here."

Sam gritted his teeth and tried to smile back, tried to feel grateful, and not as if he'd rather spend all night digging up a grave in a hailstorm. "That's great," he said.

"Here's your shirt. It's free," she chirped, handing him the bright yellow polo he remembered so well. "If you don't still have your old ones, this is the form you can fill out to have the money debited directly from your first paycheck for additional ones. Remember, you'll have to wear one every day, so it's in your best interest to …" her voice trailed off and then lowered suddenly. "Unless wearing it would bring back too many memories," she said.

Sam felt his lips start to purse and tried to smooth out the expression on his face. "I think I can handle it," he said.

"That's the spirit!" She reached into her drawer for a brightly colored brochure about the company's E.A.P. "Of course, my door is always open," she said. She pointed at a certificate on the wall. "I've had forty hours of training in handling workplace stress, don't forget. And if there's something you feel you can't talk to me about, I want you take this." She handed the brochure to Sam. "The important thing is not to bottle up our feelings, right?"

"Right," Sam said, already up and moving toward the door.

"Sam —" she called before he could escape. "We decided it would be best if we moved you to a different cubicle. You see, the people who remember you felt a little, um …"

"Sure," Sam said. "I get it."

"Great, Cynthia will show you."

He went to the restroom to change his shirt. Cynthia was waiting for him when he got out. "Welcome back, Sam," she said gently. Sam tried to pretend as if he remembered her. He'd never had much contact with the HR department.

"Thanks," he said. "So, you're going to get me fixed up with my new cubicle?"

"You're on the same floor as last time, but you're going to be positioned by —"

"Sam? Sam!"

Sam spun around and saw Dean Smith, the only person in the world who knew Sam as something other than mentally fragile. "Dean! Hello."

Sam hadn't spoken to Dean since the other man had turned down his offer to join him hunting. Sam had not given much thought to the other man in the time he'd been gone, but seeing him again made Sam realize how much he'd missed him. It was like he could feel something missing without the other man around. Dean looked good. They were a few more lines around his eyes than the last time Sam had seen him, but Sam liked the effect. He wanted to grab him and talk to him, but he was suddenly very aware of where they were, in a public space, and he didn't know what to say.

He looked away then, realizing they were staring at each other, and suddenly conscious of Cynthia's presence by his side. "Cynthia, do you know Dean?"

"I don't have much contact with the marketing division, but I just happened to process the paperwork for your promotion this morning," she said. "It's nice to put a name with a face."

"You got promoted," Sam said, wishing he had something less inane to say.

"Oh, it's the buzz of the company. Fastest promotion in Sandover history."

Dean smoothed his tie down, and Sam knew he was wishing Cynthia elsewhere, as well. "What about you? I thought you were … traveling."

"I took a leave," Sam said. "But I'm back. It wasn't what I expected. Just started today in fact. I would have called, but —"

Dean cut his eyes at Cynthia. "Well, I'm glad you're back in town. You'll have to swing by and catch a game on my big screen."

Dean's iPhone beeped then. "I've got a conference call in five minutes," he said.

Sam took a risk. "There's that college game tonight, and I don't have the cable set up yet …" The truth was that Sam hadn't even found a new apartment yet. His old one was long since rented out to someone new.

"Sure," Dean said. "See you then." With one last glance at Sam, Dean walked away.

"Linda will be so happy when I tell her you're already making friends again, Sam," Cynthia said. "We all really want you to be happy here, happy to stay here." She led him over to his new cubicle. "I'm sure you remember how the set up works. Feel free to take as many breaks as you need. No one expects you to do anything like your old call volume at first."

Sam put his ear piece on, and turned on his computer, bringing up the company website, in addition to the customer database. It didn't take a lot of brain power to ask people if they'd tried restarting their computer. He wanted to know more about Dean Smith, the man who'd gotten the fastest promotion in Sandover history.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
Dean had gotten caught up on the phone. By the time he got home Sam was already standing in front of his door, soaked through his yellow polo, rocking on his heels with impatience. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dean cut him off. "I'm so sorry," Dean said. "I didn't think it would matter if I was a few minutes late. I didn't know it was going to rain." He unlocked the door and stepped aside to make room for Sam. "Come on in. I'll get you a dry shirt. Grab yourself a beer out of the fridge. The game doesn't come on for another half-hour." He locked the door as Sam walked in and then went into his bedroom and had to think for a minute about where he kept the t-shirts he almost never wore. He took his tie off and hung up his jacket. When he came back out, Sam was sitting at his computer, two beers by his elbow.

"Thanks," Dean said, picking one up. "It's not that I mind you using my computer, but —"

"We have a problem," Sam said. "How long have you been working for Sandover?"

"Three years," Dean said.

"Then why haven't they been paying you?"

"What? Of course they've been paying me."

"I was looking at the company website today. There's a bio page of all the top employees. You've got the shortest paragraph of all the VPs." Dean wondered what that had to do with his paycheck.

Dean shrugged and took a sip of his beer. "It's a new entry; they probably put it up fast." Dean set his beer bottle down. "Wait. You just happened to be looking at my bio on the website?"

"Fine, you caught me. I can't exactly Google 'Dean Smith' easily, and I wanted to know more about you. That's not important. I started thinking about how we both started working for Sandover on the same day. How you get a new position there, the same day I come back from leave."

Sam had been busy that afternoon, and he'd amassed a stack of irregularities that just couldn't be right. The employees who had killed themselves thanks to the ghost of P.T. Sandover, had their obits in the online archive of the newspaper dated three years earlier. The ghost hunts Sam had been on the last few years by himself, the details were right, but the times were all off. He'd called a few people that he remembered, and the ones that would speak to him (which weren't many) had him pegged as having visited a year ago. "All between June twenty ten and June last year," Sam said. "Nothing before that. I don't know. It's like someone took memories I had of things that I really did and spread them out over three years."

"That's not possible. Think about what you're saying. Something would have had to change everyone's memories, the whole company! It's not just you and me. This isn't like Old Man Sandover, Sam. This is way bigger than a ghost."

"There's more." For the first time that night, Sam looked nervous. "I want you to remember I had a good reason for this, okay?"

Dean nodded warily.

"I hacked into our HR files. Whoever did this, they changed the big things, but they left a little things behind. It says you've been drawing a salary, but there's no check numbers that slot in between the other employees, and …" Dean let Sam's voice wash over. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sam. For whatever reason he did trust Sam. One didn't get anywhere in business, in sales, without being able to read people instinctively. But Sam had wanted Dean to go on the road with him saving people, and maybe subconsciously he was making a bigger case about some errors in documentation, because he still wanted that. Still needed the mystery.

He remembered the guy telling him once that he'd try to call his girlfriend and gotten an animal hospital, and before he knew it, he was calling his own family. Maybe proof that people outside the Sandover bubble knew he'd been working for the company would calm Sam down. He hadn't talked to them in a while, but maybe it was time.

Sam stopped speaking as Dean dialed the phone, watching without question. It was definitely his dad on the other end. It hadn't been so long that Dean wouldn't recognize his voice, but he didn't say "Smith Salvage," like Dean had been expecting. Instead he answered, "Willis, F.B.I." Dean hung up the phone without speaking.

He looked at Sam. "You're right. We have a problem." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's break this down logically. Let's say our memories were wiped three years ago. Someone put us at Sandover. Then they took us away. Now we're back. Forget why for a moment. How?"

"Aliens?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Aliens? Really?"

"Shut up. What's your theory?"

They never turned on the game, and they would have lost all track of time discussing possibilities if Dean didn't have his phone alarm set to tell him when it was bedtime. Sam started laughing as Dean self-defensively explained how important it was to keep to a schedule. "You can't do your best work if you're not sharp," Dean retorted.

"I should go anyway."

"Give me your address. I'll pick you up in the morning; we can carpool in and discuss this a little more."

"I don't have a place yet. I just got back into town this morning. All my stuff is in the trunk of my car. I thought I'd get a motel room tonight."

"You could have my couch."

"I don't know, man. Are you sure?"

"Maybe it's good you haven't gotten a place yet. We'll be spending a lot of time together if we're going to figure this out. I'll even let you use my washer."

Dean made up the couch for Sam and turned to leave. "Dean?" He waited. "For what it's worth, I missed you. I wish you had come with me."

Dean smiled back at him. "For what it's worth, I can't remember why I didn't."  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
Sam woke up to Dean kneeling next to him, shaking him and calling his name. He blinked up at him. "You were having a bad dream," Dean said.

"Sorry," he said, sitting up. "I get those sometimes. Didn't realize they were loud."

He watched Dean's eyes stray to the clock, could mentally see him adjusting his schedule to factor in the shortened sleep cycle. Sam felt a sudden rush of affection at the sign that Dean was still essentially the same punctual suit he'd always been. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not much to say." Dean was maybe the only person who wouldn't think Sam had mental problems, but Sam still felt shy about discussing the dreams. He sat up anyway, making room for Dean on the couch, though he wasn't asking. He had that much restraint, at least. He bent down to get his dream journal off of the floor and started to write down what he could remember.

Dean sat down despite the lack of invite. "Do you always do that?"

"Once I figured out some of them were real, I thought it could be useful."

"You've never been too specific about them."

"I used to think they were just dreams, you know. But then I met you, and I recognized you. I guess they're more like memories." He stopped. Didn't know what to say. The whole thing sounded weird already, crazy even. But it was dark, and anything seemed possible in the dark.

"So, memories of us. Fighting ghosts?"

"And monsters. They were anyway. Lately, they've been different. Can't be memories. No one could … no one could survive what I've been dreaming about happening."

Sam wasn't sure what his face was doing, but it prompted Dean to rest a hand on Sam's thigh, warm and reassuring. He tried not to read anything other than friendship into it. Three years was a long time, and they'd never been anything but that to each other. "They're just dreams. Nothing's going to happen tonight."

Sam smiled at him to show appreciation for the effort, and that felt familiar too. "Yeah, we should probably get back to sleep."

"I can stay if you want to talk more."

"No, I'm fine." The words almost came automatically.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Dean looked for a moment as if he'd press him, but he shook his head as if chiding himself. "Well, you're an adult. Good night, Sam."

"Good night, Dean."  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
There were maybe 30 students standing on the lawn in front of the new visitors center, surrounding the blocked off post-holes in the ground that marked where the iron arch was due to be placed, indicating the entrance to the heritage garden that would surround the center. Possibly, some of them were genuinely sad at the passing of Dean Fekete, the first female dean of Superior Basin College, but she'd been retired for years from the school itself, though she'd continued on as a board member. Few of them had even heard of her. It was more likely these were major students hoping to score extra credit points from the gathered professors. Maybe a few were even gawkers intrigued that someone was going to be interred in the center itself, though the crypt area would be sealed off behind a wall, marked only by a plaque. It was more of a crowd than Reggie Freedman, the college's public relations head, had expected for a cold Saturday morning with frost still on the ground. His watch beeped. Reggie stepped out and began to introduce the day's speaker, watching him from the corner of his eye. The school's vice president was giving the speech, and he downed the last of his coffee as he was introduced, attempting to rest his travel mug on the jutted out stone edifice of a green man motif that ran around the building, sprouting leaves from its mouth and ears. His hands were shaking, and the cup tumbled off, causing Reggie to wonder if the cup had been filled with something other than coffee.

The vice president stepped forward and began to talk. "Dean Fekete was a tireless fundraiser for this project. She had a gift for convincing those with no connection to our school to give from their hearts, money, but other riches too. Many were touched by her passion for preserving endangered plant species while providing the college community with a space of reflection and contemplation. In the coming months, this garden will come alive, starting with this Ring-Cupped Oak sapling, brought to us by a donation. This sapling was raised from an acorn identified in Hungary, far from the tree's native range today. It should serve as a reminder to us of the constant cycle of life, of which death is but a part. Just as some long distant tree found a way to survive in this acorn until it could be planted, Dean Fekete lives on in the flowering minds of the students who will visit this garden in the coming years."

Over the applause for the vice president's speech, Reggie motioned for the next person to come forward to give the tree a quick non-denominational blessing for the future while the ground crew put the sapling in the ground. With an unintended flourish, the vice president nearly flung the ceremonial shovelful of dirt on the plant, and Reggie breathed a sigh of relief as the cameras flashed. It was over.

  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  


It had felt good driving into work that morning, Sam sitting beside him, in his freshly washed polo. Dean had even managed to pretend not to care that Sam had declined his offer to use the iron.

But Dean was no fool. No matter how much he wanted to trust Sam, how much he inherently felt like he could, one doesn't just purchase stock without checking into the company. He spent the morning backtracking all of Sam's research, as much as he could without Sam's hacker skills, and found that it all checked out. None of the e-mail addresses he had for pre-Sandover co-workers or college buddies worked, and his home town listed his dad's company as being owned by a Robert _Singer._ Even his house and car were owned by Sandover and had been temporarily leased to him.

It all checked out.

At noon Sam knocked on his office door, holding up a bag from some local greasy spoon. "Lunch?"

"I usually eat at my desk."

Sam waved the bag around. "You sure? I brought you a cheeseburger."

Dean laughed and waved him in. "You can eat with me, but uh, I'll let you keep the cheeseburger." As Sam shut the door behind him Dean opened his bento lunch box, and uncapped his fork.

"That's not food, you know," Sam said, eyeing Dean's salad and rice with suspicion.

It was more calories than Dean usually allowed himself, since he'd come off of his cleanse. Dean flicked his eyes at Sam's bag, already turning translucent with grease. "And that is?" Sam shrugged. "How'd your first day back go?"

"I'd forgotten how much I hate this place."

  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
A couple of weeks passed in much the same vein, and Dean could see Sam getting restless, but he didn't know what to do about it. Nothing had fundamentally changed. He still thought the idea of going on the road was a bad one, and Sam's experience seemed to bear that out. He had nightmares every night. A couple of times he'd even caught Sam staring into space at nothing or talking to himself, but Sam always claimed to be simply lost in thought or thinking through a problem out loud. Dean was hesitant to push him on it.

There were no new leads on their memories, and there was just nothing left to check into. The two of them had exhausted every single glimmer of a possibility looking into Sandover Iron and Steel, Adler, themselves, everything. Dean wasn't used to encountering a problem he couldn't solve. Maybe if he looked at it another way, checked out the memory wiping angle. New technology, fairy tales, might find an answer that way. He was just about to raise the idea when Sam spoke around a mouthful of cheeseburger, "I don't know if this is working out." He seemed to eat that diner crap every day, and Dean had no idea how he wasn't sick.

He looked up from his salad in alarm. "You're not thinking of quitting, are you?"

"I don't belong here anymore. Other than you, everyone looks at me weird. Hunting wasn't always fun, but it was important, you know?"

"Sam. If what we think is true, really is true, then we can't just quit and go on the road," Dean said, pointedly ignoring that this time Sam hadn't asked him. "Next time, they might not put us together, all right?" He leaned in, reaching across the desk to place a hand on Sam's.

Sam started to shake his head. "Just hear me out, Sam," Dean said. "Now—"

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Smith, I didn't realize you were in the middle of something," Dave, one of the guys from another department that Dean barely recognized, said as he walked through the door. "I'll come back."

Dean removed his hand from Sam's as casually as he could. "No, come in, what's up?"

"Superior Basin College, we installed an iron arch for them. It fell down. They want us to pay for it to be put back up. Only we don't do installation; we subcontracted that. The subcontractor we use won't do it for free, and that needs a vice president's signature."

Dean should his head. "I'm marketing and sales. Talk to production. Or customer service."

"Production's meeting with the mayor's team about the art installation on Sixth and Broad. He's been downtown all week. And customer service is on vacation."

"Is there some reason we're not getting a new subcontractor?"

"I was really hoping you weren't going to ask me that." Dean raised his eyebrows. "The subcontractor swears it was installed properly the first time. The University has a videotape of a lone person knocking it down easily, but the subcontractor says it's a fake."

"Does the subcontractor have any proof? If this is just some bullshit CYA …"

"It's a ghost."

"What?" Sam said, speaking up for the first time since Dave had entered the room.

"They're saying the person on the videotape looks like some chick who died." He waved his hand impatiently as if it didn't matter. "Look, we're trying to break into this whole art & design area, and we just want the publicity of being the people who built the arch at the college. So, we're going to pay to make it go away, but I need a vice president's signature, all right? I can call Donna on vacation and ask her to call you to approve it —"

"No," Dean said. "No. I'll sign it. But, uh, I might have more questions for you later, all right?"

"Sure, fine. Thank you so much, Mr. Smith."

"Dean."

Dave nodded his head and left the office.

Sam's cheeseburger was sitting forgotten by his side. "You think it's a ghost?"

"It's an iron arch," Dean said, noting the lively interest in Sam's face that had been missing for the last few days. "Wouldn't hurt to check it out."

Sam started packing his lunch back into his sack, "I'll go get my things, and meet you downstairs in fif—"

"Hey, hey," Dean said, holding up a hand. "I meant this weekend."

"Oh, come on," Sam said. "What if this thing escalates? What if—"

"We need to do research anyway, right? Maybe this is what we've been waiting for. Jobs like these, where we don't have to go anywhere. We can stay here and try to work out where we come from. Do the ghost-thing on weekends. Whatever. Best of both worlds. Health insurance _and_ helping people."

"Hunting is not a part-time job, Dean."

"What if they split us up, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," he said automatically.

"What if they split us up, _Sam?_ What if whoever did this, did it to keep us from hunting? That's what your dreams are about, right? Us fighting monsters, then if they're real … we can't give them a reason to separate us. Come on. It'll wait until the weekend."

Sam swallowed hard, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. He looked across the desk at Dean from the corner of his eyes, but he wasn't looking at Dean's face, he was looking at Dean's hand. "Yes," he said, nodding quickly. "Yeah, that's a good idea. That's for the best." His hand reached out toward Dean's to take it or to move it or what, Dean didn't know, but with an embarrassed jerk, Sam snatched his hand away and settled back against his seat.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad that's settled."  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
It killed Sam to wait until lunch the next day, but he wanted to surprise Dean. See his face. Wrap it up in a bow for him, and present him with it. Not just do it with a hasty phone call. Of course, when he walked into Dean's office, the guy was on the phone, talking in that rapid patter he used when he was schmoozing someone. Sam felt the now familiar sweep of arousal run through him. It wasn't that he liked corporate douche bags. Not that he remembered anyway. But something about the way Dean spun a web around people when he talked to them, flirted with them, got them to believe whatever he was saying seemed to turn Sam's crank. Dean was really good at it, and Sam admired that. Sam was better at figuring out what people wanted him to say, but Dean seemed to have the knack of getting other people to say the things he wanted them to. Watching him like this, getting someone to say "yes, we'll double next month's order," felt right, familiar, like so much about Dean did. He dreamed about it sometimes even, Dean getting cops to let him look at their case files. Dean getting a free slice of pie at a diner. They were as real feeling as his other dreams, the D&D ones of Dean fighting and dying and bleeding. Sam shook it off. Today, he had something new to think about. Sam held up his lunch sack in a question. Dean nodded. Held up five fingers. "Tops," he mouthed and beckoned Sam into the office. Sam walked in, closing the door behind him.

Four minutes later, Dean smiled. "All right, then. I'll have one of the sales reps fax you the contract. You be sure to let them know if there's any problems." He clicked off his Bluetooth. "Spill," he said with a smile. "You're practically bouncing on your toes."

"Those phone messages I left yesterday about the hunt? Got some calls back."

"Yeah?" The corners of Dean's mouth turned up in expectation. He reached into his desk drawer, pulling out his standard tupperware of that weird bell pepper salad he liked to eat with no dressing and tossed his tie over his shoulder, though Sam had no clue what he thought he could possibly spill on it.

"Yeah. Dean Estella Fekete. Beloved first female dean of Superior Basin College. Worked there 40 years, said the school would always be her home. Even was buried there in a crypt on campus. The school's just finished a new heritage garden, and suddenly there's all these sightings of the dean around campus chiding students for being out past curfew."

"Well, that's no pencil to the neck."

Sam took a bite of his own turkey sandwich. "Ah, but this week, a student got attacked walking back to his dorm from his girlfriend's, huge chunk taken out of his arm. Said Dean Fekete's ghost bit him."

"Dude, I'm eating."

"If that's what you call it," Sam said. "Anyway, kid's being investigated. Because that morning, a groundskeeper shows up for work at five in the morning, finds the crypt open. Body's gone, and there hasn't been time for it to decompose with current embalming practices."

"Still eating."

"The police think the kid broke into the crypt for a prank, stole the body. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because the bite marks on his arm match the dean's dental records."

"No way." Dean's face lit up, and it was even better than Sam had imagined.

"Way."

"Looks like we definitely have a hunt, Sammy." And the two of them spent a whole minute grinning at each other before they remembered their lunches.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
They planned the hunt that night. It was a weird night, full of something in the air that made Dean feel reckless, excited. He even drank two bottles of his home microbrew, and wasn't that going to mess with his diet? They didn't know where the remains were; that was going to be a problem. But they'd researched as much as they could about other things. Beheading seemed to kill just about everything, and what it didn't, fire would. Sam had even sent an e-mail to the Ghostfacers asking whether they'd ever encountered any other supernatural creatures, but they didn't expect a reply right away. They wouldn't know for sure what they were dealing with until they saw it. It was kind of a rush, like walking a tightrope without a net. Dean couldn't wait to get to the college. It was only a short drive, but Dean didn't fancy traveling back and forth more than they had to with all their gear, possibly coming home with all the neighbors watching, dirty and disheveled. So, they'd get motel rooms, make a weekend of it. He couldn't stop smiling at Sam, who seemed to feel the same way. He kept looking up from the computer and smiling back. This hunt had them both so jazzed. Sam had even managed to talk him into knocking off work a few hours early to get on the road before rush hour.

"You were right," Sam said suddenly.

"About what?"

"Hunting on the weekends," he said. "I'd be going crazy right now about not knowing where we really come from if it weren't for having to go to work, getting to see you each day. I'm kind of obsessed as it is. Can't imagine how I'd be if I had nothing else to think about."

Dean cuffed the side of Sam's arm. "Maybe you'll even go wild and get a social life," he said. "Get yourself a hot girlfriend."

"Or boyfriend," Sam said. His face was locked on the computer screen, studying it intently, but neither his eyes, nor his fingers were moving.

Dean wasn't a homophobe. He listened to NPR. But Sam didn't seem gay. Not that that meant much. His own sexuality was a fleeting mix of unmemorable women that probably had never even existed, but sometimes when he looked at Sam ... "Didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend?"

"Madison. I guess I'm bisexual? I don't really remember thinking about it before."

"Do you think we should be more worried about this?"

"About my sexuality?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "About our pasts. I don't know, man. Just sometimes I wonder, you know. Like maybe you're not really as much of a nerd as you seem, and maybe there's some version of me that eats carbs for breakfast. What if we're married?"

Sam laughed. "I don't know. I don't see any good coming from scratching at that particular wall."

Dean shivered, as the words went soul-deep, striking a familiar chord in his head. He felt panicked and couldn't explain it. "That's an odd metaphor."

"Oh. Yeah. I had a dream last night. You know, one of my D&D dreams. You were mad at me. Telling me not to scratch the wall." He shrugged. "I guess it stuck."

"Well, don't then. I don't know, man, something about that phrase. It scares me, you know?" Wesson nodded.

"Yeah, I get it. I've got my own unexplained associations. Tuesday ..."

"Tuesday, what?"

"When the alarm clock went off the radio was playing Asia. 'Heat of the Moment,' you know that song? I — forget it."

"Tell me," Dean leaned against his counter, arms crossed, focusing all his attention on Sam, knowing it was important. "I woke up, heard the song and felt. I can't even describe it. I threw up."

"Over a song? Well, it was Asia."

"I guess." Sam fiddled with the mouse. "So, you don't mind that I'm ..." he prompted.

"No." Dean looked down at his beer and took a long swig. "Hell." He slammed the bottle down on the counter and stalked over to Sam. "You can say no, and we'll forget about it like it never happened, but I —" and he took Sam's upturned face in his hands and kissed him.

It was like being set on fire, heat burning through him. Through them both. Whoever had built his memories had done a piss-poor job if this was what kissing was always like. He was going to be ash any moment. He broke away and tried to find his equilibrium.

Sam swallowed, looking up at him from his chair. His lips were just a little red. "I'm not saying no," he whispered. Dean leaned in again. He gasped as he felt Sam's hands slide just under his waistband, untucking his shirt. Then Sam's large hands were under his shirt, sliding along his skin, hotter than anything Dean remembered. He began pulling Sam up, wanting to touch him, wanting to feel their bodies pressed together. He dragged Sam out of the chair, pushed him against the wall.

"Sam," he muttered. He pushed the collar of his shirt aside, so he could get at Sam's collarbone to suck a kiss into it, because he wanted to leave a mark, but he'd never forget himself so much as to do it where it would be visible the next day at work. Sam made a noise like Dean had never heard, not quite a hiss or a gasp, but startled and distressed and turned-on. He caught a glimpse of Sam's face. The guy looked wrecked, like a nuclear reactor had hit him. "Hey," Dean said. "Hey, you okay?"

Sam nodded, nearly non-verbal. "Want," he muttered. "I — for awhile now," he bit out. "Thought you'd hate me. Or think I was just making stuff up to get in your pants."

"Don't hate you," Dean murmured. Sam was shaking, and Dean realized that whatever happened, it wasn't going to be some easy lay for Sam, a little stress reliever between friends. "Hey, come on. Let's go sit on the couch," Dean said. "We can make out little."

Sam looked dazed. "I thought ..." He jerked his head toward Dean's bedroom.

"Not tonight," Dean said. "We got a full day tomorrow. Let's just take things slow. Neither one of us is going anywhere."

"Okay," Sam said, and Dean had the uncomfortable sense that the guy would follow his lead in just about anything.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
"We can take your car, right?" Sam asked as they walked out of the Sandover building.

"Sure. Unless you want to drive." Dean removed his cufflinks, thinking about how much he couldn't wait to get out of his suit, knowing it would have to wait until they checked into the motel.

"Not if I don't have to. I always biked to work before."

"Hardcore." Dean was impressed. "I've been thinking of doing that myself. Biking to work. It's good for the environment. I have a Prius," he said.

Wesson smirked, looking around the interior they were currently sitting in, driving toward their motel. "I had noticed." His smile warmed. "Those are cool too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Dean turned the radio up, singing along. NPR was awesome. He'd have to remember to download the Song of the Day when he booted up his laptop later.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
There were many things that went into the making of a good environment. The air and the weather must be in harmony. Bringing oxygen to the people and carbon dioxide to the plants. Bringing rain to water them all, and sun to warm them. Once these were all the responsibility of the Green Man.

Once, the Green Man had slept in winter, in the soil, like the plants, awaiting the vernal equinox, when his people would wake him, ready to begin the planting. It was the Green Man's job to wake the plants and the animals. To stir fertility in them, and bring forth spring. But time passed, and new gods came, and new people until one spring the Green Man was utterly forgotten, slumbering under the earth. No one came to wake him, and he slept on. Years passed, and then decades, and then centuries, and then millennia. The Earth shifted, her crust rose and fell, until there came a time when there was nothing left of the Green Man's power but a single forgotten acorn. Planted and prayed to, he began to stir, gathering his magic, awaiting the ceremony that would wake him fully.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
Sam and Dean were checking in to their motel when a very harried-looking woman burst in with three children clinging to her. "Sorry, ma'am," the manager said, "I was just about to turn the vacancy sign off, gave the last two rooms to these guys."

"Oh, please," she said. "There has to be something. The DVD player broke, and I swear, we can't go one more block tonight. I'll pay anything, please."

"It's not a matter of money," the manager began.

Dean looked at the woman. She really did look like she was at the end of her rope. "These rooms have two beds, right?"

"Yeah," said the manager. "Of course."

Dean looked at Sam. "We can share, can't we?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." It was cute to watch the top of Sam's ears turn pink. "So, that'll be just one room for us for the weekend, then."

"Oh, thank you," the woman said. "Thank you so much."

"No problem." Dean winked at her. "Anything for a lady."

  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  


The attack and the sightings had all been at night, so that's where they started. They waited until nightfall to go over to the campus and check out the crypt. Sam could pass for a college student, but Dean would have to hope that any staff around at night wouldn't be familiar with all of the professors on campus. The last thing either of them wanted was to be arrested for trespassing.

The crypt itself was a bust, shiny and new. There seemed to be an awful lot of moss growing over the green man motif on the outside of the building for something so new, but that was the only unusual aspect. The garden was more interesting, though. "I thought you said they just planted this garden." Dean waved at the plants around, half of which were overgrown and half of which were dead. "It's like it's been here for years without anyone taking care of it."

"It doesn't look much like what I saw in the online pictures either, and those were just posted," Sam replied. "It's like it grew up overnight, and then just died. Hey, do you hear something?"

Dean listened and heard a rhythmic flopping sound. "I think someone's coming," he replied. "You got your cover story straight?"

"Architecture student. Project on crypt design."

"Right." They turned and tried to look as if they were just nonchalantly studying the side of the crypt.

"What are you boys doing out past curfew?" they heard. They turned back around, and their cover stories died on their lips.

"Dean. Is that?"

"Yeah," he said, already bending down to pull a machete out of his bag. "But that's no ghost." The woman in front of them was a corpse. Clearly so. Pieces of her had rotted off and half of her hair was falling out.

"I hate to see boys sneaking around, instead of getting their rest like good children. You'll probably be late to class tomorrow, waste of a good education. It makes me so, so ... HUNGRY," she yelled and leapt, moving quicker than a human could.

Dean hadn't had time to get into position. Her teeth managed to scrape his arm before he could push away, which was harder than it should have been. The dean had been a petite woman over a foot shorter than him, but this version was strong. With a yell, Sam pulled her away, allowing Dean to get his arm holding the machete up. "Get back, Sam," he yelled.

Sam let go, and went for his own weapons. Dean raised the machete and sliced the dean's head off. She twitched on the ground. "Is she dead?" Sam asked.

"We should burn it to make sure." They dragged the body back into the crypt and set it on fire, tossing a box of rock salt over it for extra protection. Dean looked at Sam in the firelight. "Did we just kill a zombie?"

"I think so," Sam said.

"Wow."

As they walked away from the crypt, neither of them noticed the blood dripping from Dean's arm into the soil.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
Sam felt a weird thrumming in his body. It was almost like how he'd felt the first time, killing the ghost of P. T. Sandover, but this was better. A thousand times more intense. He kept casting glances at Dean as they drove back to their motel. "Zombies," he said. He loved the way the word sounded in his mouth. "A real zombie!"

"I know! How cool is that?"

They pulled into the parking lot. Dawn was breaking, and Sam knew he should try to get some some sleep before check-out, but he was just too wired. "Zombies!" he said again as they walked into their room. "Zombies!" he said, just because he could.

Dean grinned back at him, his face lit up with boyish glee. "Zombies," he agreed happily. Sam wanted to kiss him, wanted to taste him. He couldn't remember feeling this way since Madison. He leaned in.

It was electric. Like the thrum Sam felt deep in his center was being answered back by Dean. He felt Dean's arms go around his shoulder, felt the touch like a brand, hot and deep, piercing through his clothes and flesh. He wanted more. He clawed at Dean's tie, frantically pulling the suit jacket off of his shoulders. Such a stupid thing to wear on a hunt. But so like Dean. "I thought we were going to take it slow," Dean mumbled against his jaw as his hands found the buttons on Sam's shirt. He heard a rip, didn't know whose clothes it was. Didn't care.

"We waited two days," Sam replied.

"Good point," Dean said and took his mouth again. It felt good, so damn good. Everywhere. Sam ripped the fastening of Dean's pants, got a hand down Dean's underwear. One of them groaned. Maybe it was both of them. He felt Dean's hand on his own cock, wondered when he'd become completely naked, stopped caring. He gasped into Dean's mouth as Dean's hand began stroking his cock, tried to stay focused enough to return the favor. They came like that, hurried and frantic, pressed against the closed door of the motel room, barely a step inside.

Afterward, Sam kissed at Dean's collar, sucking tiny marks into it. They'd have to walk over to a bed soon or else they'd collapse on the floor, but he didn't know how to move without letting go of Dean. He wasn't ready to do that just yet. Dean's head turned. Sam felt an answering kiss against his temple. "Come on," Dean said and moving together became just that easy.

They tumbled to the bed, Dean on his back, Sam half on top of him. Dean's face was open, smiling. Sam had never seen him so happy. Not even when he'd doubled his weekly sales target. Not even in Sam's dreams. Sam traced his face with wonder. "I made you happy," he said. "I did that."

Dean laughed. "Sap."

"Jackass," Sam returned with a smile.

Dean only grinned back. "Yeah," he said, running his hand along Sam's side. "Yeah."  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
The man stretched with a great yawn. It had been a long slumber, and he was anxious to get out and begin waking the world. He could feel his shrines nearby calling to him. Places where he had not been forgotten and owed the people who'd stayed faithful. He could feel his power crackling around him, more than he'd ever had before when he used to rise once a year. Thousands of years of power built up, yearning to be used, leaking out.

But first, there was something he had to do. He looked around the garden before him, still battling the effects of the unclean creature his power had inadvertently raised. He reached his hand out, felt the power go out and the garden began to grow as the dead plants returned to life. They would be thirsty, he thought.

It began to rain.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
The rain did not let up. It rained until people began to be sick of it. It rained until there were puddles everywhere splashing mud and city dirt. It rained until the streets flooded, and everywhere the plants grew, even the ones that needed sun. Seemingly overnight, vines grew over the courthouse building covering all the windows. Plants sprung up in the sidewalk cracks and right through the pavement of the road, causing accidents everywhere. A dozen different couples were caught having sex in the public library, and one of the librarians discovered that the nausea she'd feared was a sign the cancer was back was actually a pregnancy in a brand new uterus that had somehow grown back after her hysterectomy three years earlier.

Most of these things did not make the news. It wouldn't have mattered. Sam and Dean didn't know enough to look for omens anyway. It took them a few weeks to notice, and once they did, they had no idea how they had missed it. They spent all evening researching until they had an entire list of strange occurrences going back to the zombie sightings a month earlier. Even after they went to bed, Dean couldn't get it out of his mind. "This isn't possible," Sam said. "Is this possible?"

"As possible as someone wiping our memories and giving us new identities, I guess."

"You ever worry about it?" Sam asked.

"What?"

"Whoever, whatever did this to us. If they'd do it again." He rolled over and pulled Dean closer to him, resting his chin against Dean's head. "If next time they didn't put us together."

"Then I'd come find you," Dean said.

"But if you didn't remember —"

"Sam." Dean took Sam's hand, brought it up to his lips. "I'd come find you. No matter what, I'll always come get you. I may not know everything you do. No special dreams or anything, but I know that. I feel that."

Sam closed his suddenly moist eyes, kissed the back of Dean's head. "Yeah," he said. "Me, too."

Dean asked the question he'd been wondering about for a while. "Why'd you really come back, Sam?"

"I told you, hunting wasn't —" Dean gave him a look that cut him off.

"I can see how you love it," Dean said. "I love it. If it offered a pension and a 401k, I'd quit Sandover in a heartbeat."

"I got hit on the head during a hunt. This woman named Robin died while I was knocked out. Ever since then, I've been seeing things."

"Things?"

"I'm not crazy. Just … this blond guy talking to me, saying it isn't real. It's been better since I came back. I mean, now I know this isn't real. Someone's tampered with our memories. I guess this is just my subconscious's way of letting me know."

"You sound pretty freaked, though."

Sam flipped onto his back and put his arm under his head. "There's nothing I can do about it anyway," he deflected. "It's probably just like my dreams, you know. I thought they were pretty weird too until I met you. Now they're actually helpful. Can we stop talking about this?"

"Sure," Dean said.

  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
They drove back to Superior Basin the very next weekend, staying at the same motel. They didn't bother this time to ask for two rooms. "The only way we're going to figure this out is if we beat the bushes. It looks like we've got three clusters: stuff that happened near or at the college, stuff that happened near or at the library, and stuff that happened near or at the courthouse."

"What do those three places have in common?"

"I don't know, let's take a look."

They walked the rest of that day, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. The courthouse police come over to find out why they were loitering. Sam panicked and mumbled something about an assignment for architectural class, and that's when Dean looked, really looked at the building and saw it, the carving of the man with leaves coming out of his mouth, just like at the college, and probably the library too.

He grabbed Sam by the arm, blurted out that they needed to put more quarters in the meter, and started walking as fast as they could. "We need to get to the library," he said.

  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  


They'd found a few books at the library with a couple of paragraphs on the motif, but it had just left with new questions to talk through in the privacy of their motel room. "Okay, so it's the symbol of the Green Man, an ancient pagan god of rebirth, representing the cycle of growth each spring."

"So what, you're saying it's a god causing all of this? Like an actual god?"

"I don't know. I guess."

"Do the Ghostfacers even cover that?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head. "Man, this is way above our pay grade. Maybe we should let this one slide. It's _weird,_ but it's not necessarily dangerous. How would we even kill something like that?"

"A stake through the heart?" Sam hazarded.

"He's not a vampire."

"It worked on the Trickster."

"Who's the Trickster?"

"A dream I had?" Sam began leafing through his dream journal. "Here. We were at a college —"

"That does sound familiar."

"And we staked the Trickster. But he was also a janitor?"

"A janitor?"

Sam shrugged. "They're just dreams. I don't know."

"Hey, maybe, you can control it. Try to dream about something specific."

"I don't know, Dean ..."

"Won't know until you try. I just don't think we ought to go into something like this blind, you know. You can't negotiate a good deal, if you don't know how much the client can afford to pay." Sam chewed his lip, doubtfully. "Hey, come here," Dean said. He kissed Sam's cheek reassuringly. "If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. I'm not expecting a miracle." He pinched Sam's ass. "It's that hard body of yours I love, not your freaky brain," he joked.

Sam flushed, relaxing. "All right. I'll try tonight."

  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  


There was no sex that night, because that would lead Sam into passing out. Hardly conducive to lucid dreaming. He lay there, thinking hard about his half-remembered dream of the Trickster, trying to conjure up his face. He tried to remember if he'd ever learned anything about guiding one's dreams. All it seemed to be doing was giving him a headache. He snuggled closer to Dean and placed his own hand over his, gently so as not to wake him and let his thoughts drift. Maybe tomorrow he could swing by the library and town and see if the ... librarian ... had ... any ... suggestions. ... The ... librarian ...

 _"Your kind of librarian or my kind of librarian?" Dean asked._

 _"Well, she was wearing clothes if that's what you ..." Sam's voice trailed off. Something wasn't right. Dean was ... was walking away from him and Sam hurried after him, knowing something was wrong, but unable to put his finger on it. Dean was moving faster than Sam could keep up, and Dean ducked into a building, the door swinging shut behind him. Sam ran to keep up and just as his hand touched the door, he and Dean were whisked away to — a forest?_

 _"So what do we do?" Dean was asking._

 _"Kill her." Sam recognized the person talking: Castiel, an angel._

 _"Kill Fate?"_

 _"Do you have another suggestion?"_

 _"No, I just mean, can you even do that?" And that was it; that was what Sam was here for. This was a dream, he realized suddenly. One of the crazy D &D dreams that he kept having, and maybe killing Fate was like killing a pagan god._

 _"Balthazar has a weapon that would work against her." Balthazar? Who was Balthazar?_

 _"—You need new friends, Cas."_

 _"I'm trying to save the ones I have, Dean. Which is why your brother needs to stop."_

 _Sam jerked awake._

 _"Your brother needs to stop," Sam heard again. The words echoed in his head. "Your brother needs to stop ... _Your brother._ "_

"No. No," Sam whispered. He clutched at his head as image after image began flickering through his mind. He began to jerk in the bed, and his mind went blank.

When Sam awoke, Dean was gone. Written in his brother's careful script there was a note on the table. His _brother's_ script.

Went to grab us breakfast. Don't worry, I'll get you something made of sugar. Back Soon.

Sam remembered everything.

  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  


Dean was whistling when he came back into the room with coffee, a cup of yoghurt and two doughnuts. "Rise and shine, Sammy. We've only the rest of the weekend to figure this out, if we're going to be back at work on Monday."

Sam was already in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Dean spared a moment of regret that he'd missed out on morning sex, but there would be time for that later. A whole lot of laters.

Sam eyed him wearily, red toothbrush dangling from his mouth. He looked peaked, now that Dean was really seeing him. "You okay?" Dean asked. "You're looking a little ... what's wrong?"

Sam spit and rinsed and hesitated before speaking, though his voice was firm as soon as he did so. "Nothing, I  No. Nothing's wrong. Everything's better than it has been for us in a long time." He smiled and walked over to Dean and took the coffee from his hands, setting it down on the table. He leaned in and pressed his lips slowly to Dean, letting their mouths open gently to each other. The kiss was slow and sweet, and Dean couldn't read it, but he fully expected to have years to figure out what all of Sam's kisses were saying.

"Good morning," Dean said when it was over.

Sam smiled back; it was a good morning. "You're really happy," he said, with something like wonder in his voice.

Dean had brought the paper with him, and the news reports were worse. Unusual flash flooding, priapism leading to heart attack and stroke that was being blamed on some rogue poisoner, though police had so far been unable to pinpoint the source. "So, it is dangerous. Why now? I mean, if this is an ancient symbol why doesn't this happen every year?"

"It started at the college, right? Then spread? Maybe we should start looking there for clues as to what kick-started it."

  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
Even in the dark, they could tell the dead spots in the garden were all gone. It was still growing like crazy, plants overtaking the careful footpaths. They'd barely begun poking around Dean Fekete's crypt when a shadow detached itself from the surrounding vegetation, resolving into a man. At first glance, he seemed to be covered in branches and leaves, but as he moved and shifted, it became clearer that he was the branches and leaves, and they were him, sprouting all around.

"You have to stop," Sam said. He wanted to try talking first, if for no other reason than they didn't know whether the stakes would work. Even after remembering everything, he felt uncertain about relying on what he thought he knew. With the wall down, he remembered his soulless self hunting alone, and those memories had been altered to fit the time that Sam Wesson had been hunting alone. They overlapped and contradicted each other in a way that was hard to parse, and that was just one example of the morass of confusion he felt trying to separate the real from the not real. But also, talking would hopefully distract the man long enough for Dean to get behind him. "You're killing people. Surely, that's not what you want."

"I tried to be nice to you boys. You're the ones who freed me. But you just won't stop coming back."

"We didn't free you."

"My worshippers are supposed to wake me up when winter ends, and then one year they didn't. Who knows why? I can't even hear my siblings anymore, but maybe the other seasons are holding on somewhere in a forgotten corner of the world. But I've slept under the ground all this time, waiting. All that power, all that energy has to go somewhere. They prayed for me, you know. Asked for a blessing, for hope and growth and new life. They didn't say to whom they were praying, and this town has so many altars to me."

"That's why Dean Fekete became a zombie."

"Yes. But you were the ones who woke me. It takes a sacrifice, like all ancient rituals. Love and blood, and you two boys left both in your wake. I'm grateful, you know. I don't want to hurt you. You could just walk away."

"But you're hurting others. The world doesn't need a god of growing anymore. Those aren't alters, they're decorations."

"Very well. I shall have to give you a blessing instead. Someone's shut you away. Made you forget who you really are." His voice was creaky, but serene. "That wasn't very nice. I can grow your memories back."

Before Sam could even shout a warning, the Green Man spun around and laid a hand on Dean's head. Dean clutched his head and screamed. He saw Sam running toward him, terror on his face. Dean reached out. "Sam," he whispered. He fell to his knees.

Sam leaned over him. "Dean, what's happening? Dean! Stay with me, Dean. Dean!"

The Green Man fixed Sam with an empty look. "I'd get him out of here if I were you. Before my gratitude ends." He smiled, flashing pointed teeth. "Before my hunger begins."

And Sam, Sam remembered the banquet at the Elysian Field motel and hefted Dean, still twitching and moaning, up onto his shoulders, running as much as he was able back to the car.

  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  


When he came back to himself, Dean crawled over to the bathroom to lean over the toilet and throw up. Sam stood in the doorway, wanting to comfort his brother, but unsure if he'd be welcome. He felt raw all over and imagined that for Dean the feeling would be much worse.

It was only a minute before Dean stopped retching, but the seconds seemed longer as they ticked along. When Dean finally looked up, green eyes standing out starkly in a face wrecked and pale, it took everything in him no to snatch him up into a hug. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from reaching out, and walked shakily over to his brother. "Dean," he started. Not knowing where to begin. "Dean —"

"S-Sammy?" Dean said confusedly. "I — you — we —" Dean's face paled further if that was possible, all of the blood draining out. "Shit."

Sam sat down heavily on the bathroom floor. "You remember," he said.

"We're brothers." Dean's voice sounded hollowed out. "We're —"

"Yes," Sam replied. He didn't know what else to say.

Then Dean was splashing water over his face and pushing past Sam and out of the motel room. "Dean, wait," Sam called. But Dean ran out into the parking lot, and Sam watched the Prius zip away. Sam thunked his head against the wall. Dean was never going to forgive him for this. Never.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
When Dean came back to the motel room it the next day. The curtains were still drawn, and the room was dark as he walked in. Sam lay on the bed, and the daylight streaming in from the parking lot just before the door closed, showed he was awake, staring at the ceiling. "Dean," Sam said, sitting up. His voice was hoarse and wrecked. Had he been crying?

"I thought you'd be dressed by now, Sammy. We need to take care of this thing right away. As it is, we're still going to get back to the house late and —"

"I want to talk about it."

Dean closed his eyes and tried to gather himself. He wasn't stupid. He knew they had to talk about it, but he just wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to say the things he needed to say. "I'm sorry, Sammy. God. I'm so sorry. I swear I didn't know; I never would have —" There was a knot in his throat making him choke on the lie, but he forced his way through it. If Sam left him now. If Sam left him now, he'd never recover. He had to do his best, make sure he never, _never,_ gave Sam a reason to figure out what a horrible pervert his older brother was. Better to have Sam riding in the front seat next to him for the rest of his life as a brother and a friend and nothing else, than to live the rest of his life without him. "I never would have taken advantage of you. I swear."

"You didn't take advantage of me, Dean." Sam's voice was off, stilted, and yes, those were tears Dean could hear. Sam was doing a good job holding it together, but Dean was closer to him that anyone else in the world. God. Too close. "I already knew."

"You knew? For how long? Why didn't you say anything? All this time and you knew?!"

"Not all the time, not all the time, Dean. I promise."

"Since when?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Day before yesterday. I didn't know, I didn't know how to —"

Dean felt it like a punch to his solar plexus and looked away. "It's my fault," he said. He could feel a vein throbbing in his jaw. "I'm the one who —"

"Dean ..." Sam said. He got up from the bed and walked over to Dean, reaching for his brother.

"Don't," Dean said, pulling away.

"That morning, after — that morning when we woke up. That night, after we fell asleep, I had a dream. I tried to tell you, Dean, I did. But you were so happy, Dean. Happier than I ever remember you being in either set of memories. I couldn't." Sam put his head in hands. "You were happy. I just couldn't, Dean."

"So, what, you've been humoring me?"

"No, God know, I — they were just dreams, all right? Just dreams. I wasn't going to destroy everything, because of some stupid dreams." Dean tried to hear what Sam was saying. Tried to hear what he wasn't saying, too. Tried to listen. Sam had done the best he could with the information he had, and Sam hadn't been himself. Hadn't been Sam Winchester, with a string of disappointments and mistakes littering his past. Sam Wesson was everything Sammy should have been allowed to be if it weren't for demons and angels and Dean pulling him away from Stanford all those years ago. _You were so happy, Dean._ Sam pretending all this time to make Dean happy. "I'm not sorry," Sam said. He took a deep breath, and Dean knew he didn't mean the next words. Couldn't. "It doesn't make a difference to me. I felt this way before."

"It's okay, Sam. It's okay." Dean reached out to pat him on the shoulder, and then thought better of it, snatching his hand back. He saw Sam wince. God. He had to remember to control himself. He couldn't touch Sam like that anymore. He wished he could take back the memories as easily. The memories. "Cas said we needed time," Dean said. Sam wrinkled his brow. "You, the wall." Dean swallowed hard. "He promised to put you back before he brought it down. Maybe this is is what he meant all along."

Sam started to say something, but the words never made it out of his mouth.

Dean reached automatically for the flask that wasn't there, the flask that Dean Smith didn't carry. There was beer in his duffel. Warm, but it would have to do. All he wanted to do was crawl into the bed with Sam and wrap his arms around him. But that wasn't fair to Sam. "I get why you did it. We just, we'll just forget about it, okay?"

"If that's what you want," Sam said dully.

Dean's heart stopped. Had Sam realized? But no, his brother wasn't looking at him with disgust, just sadness. "Yeah, of course," Dean said, trying to be cheerful. "I wouldn't. I'm not that kind of person," he said.

Sam sat back down on the bed. "I know," he said. "I know you aren't, Dean."

"It doesn't matter now. We've still got a monster to gank."

"Right," Sam said.

"We're not going to be able to sneak up on him and stake him, are we?"

"I doubt it. Guy's got bat hearing or something, but why was he at the crypt?" Dean asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's already woken up. He obviously knew we were after him. Why was he still hanging around?"

"So, he went to sleep every year when summer came, right? Maybe he didn't go voluntarily. Maybe he was put to sleep somehow and whatever it is —"

"— is still at the crypt."

"He was protecting it," Sam said.

"Maybe there's something we can burn, like that scarecrow tree."

"So, how do we search the crypt?"

"Well, the miracles that we know the exact time of all happened during the day, right?"

"So, he's not there. He's going around town somehow during the day, touring his 'altars.'"

There was no sign of whatever had put the Green Man to sleep, but outside the crypt Sam saw again the heritage garden that had been planted shortly after Dean Fekete died. There was a oak tree growing at the center, abnormally tall and strong after just a few weeks. "Dean, what if he wasn't sleeping here."

"What?"

"Well, the Green Man is mostly a European legend. So maybe —"

"He was brought here by the planting!"

"Exactly."

They dug a firebreak around the garden, and then set the whole mess on fire, paying particular attention to the tree at the center. The Green Man appeared before them, also on fire, but they were easily able to evade his grasping hands. They watched him disappear in a puff and salted the garden ground for good measure.

Dean's cheek was scratched. Sam reached up and wiped the stripe of blood off Dean's face with his thumb. His hand lingered and Dean reached up and grabbed his wrist, but didn't pull it away. "Sammy … we can't."

"We already did, Dean. If you don't want me, I'll understand. I'll never bring it up again. But I want you, Dean. Always. I'll never stop."

"You're confused. Castiel's scrambled your brains. You'll get over it and then you'll see that I'm "

"What, Dean?" Sam's voice and hand were gentle.

"Never mind, let's get cleaned up. We have to decide what we want to do."

Sam's hand fell away, and he turned back toward the car. "I'm an adult, you know," Sam snapped, but Dean didn't answer.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
It was the quietest drive Dean could ever remember outside of one them being asleep or angry. Though maybe that was because Sam was angry, at least a little.

"I'll make up the couch for you," Dean said. It was the first word either of them had spoken for some time. Dean looked around the house, Dean Smith's house, and studied all the shiny silver appliances, granite countertops and modern furniture. How had he never noticed how cold the place was before? Sam put his duffel down in the living room, and then they stood there, looking at each other quietly. Dean couldn't think of a single other thing to say. He turned to go get some sheets and blankets.

"What happens on Monday?" Sam asked.

"What do you mean?" Dean said, keeping his back to Sam.

"Do we just go back to Sandover? Pretend we don't remember?"

Dean pushed down the voice in his head screaming at him to pack Sam away into the Impala and drive forever. No good could come from listening to it. Dean was ... just Dean. And Sam — Sam was so much better than this twisted thing they had between them. "It's what you always wanted, isn't it? Normal?"

"I haven't wanted that for a long time, Dean," Sam said. "There's no quitting. Hasn't this at least taught you that?"

"You could remember how to want it," Dean said. "I can hit the road, track down Bobby. See what he remembers. We still need to do something about Cas." Even if, even if Sam wanted — he didn't. _He couldn't._ But even if Sam did, some day he'd look up and realized what he'd tied himself to. He walked to the bedroom door. "Don't you get it?" he said, hand on the knob. "We're safe here." He walked through the door and closed it behind him. "You're safe here."  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
Dean didn't feel the way he did, Sam thought. That was okay. He laid back down on the bed, his eyes tracking Dean in the darkness as he made his way to the bedroom alone. It felt wrong. But Dean didn't seem to be mad at least. Sam should be grateful for that. He was grateful. He was.

Sam wanted Dean to join him more than anything that night. Not for sex, but just to put an arm around him to take away the worry and the anger that stirred in the pit of his belly. Sam shoved it to the back of his mind, and tried to figure out how they were going to deal with Castiel and what they'd do if Bobby didn't remember them.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
Dean had set his alarm for 4 a.m., figuring he'd leave a note for Sam telling him this was for the best and get on the road as soon as he could before Sam woke up. He'd have to take the Prius and hope that the Impala had ended up back at Bobby's. At least he knew that Bobby was home and remembered enough to answer the phone as an F.B.I. agent. If he was lucky, Bobby would remember everything, would have been doing research on what had happened to Cas. He'd call Sandover from the road. It'd probably take them a couple of weeks to kick Sam out, enough time to find a place of his own maybe, or at least a motel close to the office.

But when he walked into the living room, Sam was already up and dressed, waiting for him. "Did you really think I'm that stupid, Dean?" he asked. "Did you really think you could just sneak away?"

"Sam ..."

"No, listen to me. I've been thinking about this all night. You wouldn't try to ditch me unless you were trying to protect me." Sam narrowed his eyes and walked toward Dean. "It's okay, Dean. I'm okay. It's all okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Sam —"

"I said listen. It's okay to want this." Sam remembered everything Dean Smith liked, but he had no clue about Dean Winchester. He went on instinct, running his hands along Dean's skin, asking with his eyes and his mouth over and over. Dean stiffened in response, though he didn't push Sam away. "I'm right here. You just have to say yes." Sam opened himself up, tried to put everything he felt for Dean on his face. "Come on, Dean, say something."

Suddenly, the dam broke. Dean responded with a choked cry, grabbing Sam to him tightly. They fell to the couch. "You always have to push," Dean said. "You never give up."

"Not on you," Sam said. "Never."

"Jerk," Dean whispered as Sam climbed on top of him and kissed him hard.  


[](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/323836.html)

  
Afterward, they lay together sticky and warm. "You're not going to Sandover, are you?" Dean asked.

"No," Sam said. "It's not who I am. Not either of us."

"Who are we going to be then?"

"Sam and Dean."

"I can do that," Dean said.

  


Finis

  


**Author's Note:**

> Rated for explicit sex between two people whose memories have been altered. References to Sam's hallucinations, as well.


End file.
